


Just Relax

by Paycheckgurl



Category: Mystery Science Theater 3000
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Background Human Characters, Gen, Kidnapping, Post-Season/Series 10, Pre-Season/Series 11, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 22:56:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15423480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paycheckgurl/pseuds/Paycheckgurl
Summary: The bots find themselves once again captive on the SOL. They aren't dealing with this reality well.Christmas in July gift for Feelysonheelys!





	Just Relax

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Feelysonheelys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feelysonheelys/gifts).



> The prompt was to write my own version of how the bots ended up back in space. 
> 
> I absolutely adore Heelys' own version of this plot **Cough**read it if you haven't--it's part of her story Satelles **Cough** so I hope I came in striking distance of the bench mark of awesome on this. 
> 
> Happy Summer Heelys!
> 
> Also, shout out to Speccy for running this exchange and helping me look this over at the absolute last minute.

_Jonah absentmindedly flips through the Satellite of Love user’s manual._

_“You guys were up here alone before I got here,” he muses. “It must have been scary to end up here.”_

_“Nah,” says Tom. “We’re robots, we acclimate quicker than you humans do.”_

_“Yeah,” puts in Crow. “We’re used to it. We spent more time here than any other place. But before you got here I could hoard that hammock to myself!”_

_“Be nice!” admonishes Gypsum. But she doesn’t contradict them. Cambot hums silently as they watch._

_Jonah shrugs and continues to read the owner’s manual._

_He still has a lot to learn._

* * *

 

_Happy Thoughts and Good Things_

 

_Cambot Unit Camera File [Nov2001]_TurkeyDay_

_Joel passes Mike some mashed potatoes. Crow is sticking things in his beak. Tom Servo is hovering just above the table. They’re all laughing at something. Gypsum slithers her head just barely into frame. She’s laughing at the something too. There are previous video files that reveal what the something is, but it’s unimportant to understanding this moment for what it is._

_Cambot Unit Camera File [May2002]_TrippingUp342_

_Mike fell on his face again. He tripped over Joel’s unfortunately placed welcome rock._

_Cambot Unit Camera File [December2008]_ISawThis_

_Tom Servo has curlers attached his dome, and cucumbers glued to it. He’s wearing a bathrobe and singing a few bars of “We’re All in This Together” from High School Musical. A low art “murder or musical theater” he swears he hates. [Cross reference Cambot Unit Camera File [November2007_HSMusicalRant]_

_“Ah! Cambot!” he screams as high as his deep baritone voice will allow him._

_“You’re not going to share this with anyone right, buddy?”_

_Cambot Unit Camera File [July2011]_GroupRiffingForFunNight_9932_

_Joel and Mike are on the couch. Crow is to their right, Tom to their left. They’re both in differing stages of sleepiness. Joel looks just a tad bit sleepier than usual, which to those that know him best means he is mostly asleep. Mike is drooling. Cambot highlights this by zooming in on the drool. Crow nestles his beak next to Joel in a cuddle, whereas Tom Servo simultaneously moves to reposition Mike’s arm so he’s holding him. They deny they fell into sleep mode like this on purpose the next day. [cross reference Cambot Unit Camera File [July2011]_MorningsOnEarth_4015]_

_Cambot Unit Camera File [June 2015]_TheReturn_

_TV’s Son of TV’s Frank greets Crow in the doorway._

_Crow’s beak opens a bit as he recognizes the resemblance to someone from a former life, but he seems to shove it off._

_“Well you’re not the guy with Servo’s Amazon package,” he says._

_He gives them this awkward smile that’s just a little bit unnerving._

_Crow slams the door._

_TV’s Son opens the door again._

_Crow turns to Servo._

_“Run!” he says._

_The image goes black._

_Cambot Unit Camera File [June 2015]_TheReturn_02_

_“Crow! Crow! CROW!!! I can’t keep running! My thrusters are...they’re shorting out. You’re going to have to carry me!”_

_“Fine! Just! Quiet, that weirdo is still chasing us!”_

_Cambot Unit Camera File [June 2015]_TheReturn_03_

_“Crow, as frequent horror movie critics maybe we should have...we should have ran outside the house.”_

_“Yeah...well, we made our choice. Time to live with it. Gypsum’s on her way I...I think. I still can’t get a hold of Mike or Joel. It’s like both of their phones are dead…The guy doesn’t seem that athletic...more of a nerd that plays with action figures.”_

_“So I realize this would be a really bad time to call you out the hypocrisy of your Funko Pop collection but…”_

_They’re quiet for a second._

_“You don’t think he’s here because...why we think he’s here. Right?”_

_“I’m trying not...not to go there.”_

_There’s a large bushy haired shadow that appears._

_“Finally,” he said. “Kinga’s going to be so happy.”_

_The footage goes fuzzy._

_Cambot Unit Camera File [June 2015]_HDCapiabilitesTest_

_Test footage of HD shooting capabilities. Image crispness on Moon 13--yet to be mounted to a track._

_Cambot Unit Camera FIle [June 2015]_HDCapabilitiesTest_006_

_“Well hello there Cambot,” says Kinga Forrester. “I have a proposition for you…_ ”

* * *

  _But I’m Still Here_  

ConGypsCo is still standing. It’s not a Fortune 500. But it was. Then the dot com bubble burst happened. The 2008 financial crisis hadn’t been so kind. But it’s still here. And Gypsum is still here. The company is her baby, and she puts everything into it.

It’s a curiosity to some. The company that randomly has a large purple robot, who was also once part of the ensemble of a strange cult TV show, as its C.E.O. And yet, at the end of the day, that’s not what’s most remarkable about it. What’s most remarkable is the fact that she’s very effective. And while her company may have fallen from the very top, she’s still hanging on. They’re not getting rid of her that easily.

She has a meeting at 12:15 PM Central. Her usual secretary is out sick. So she catches up the new girl.

“Do not call me out of this meeting,” she explains. “For anything.”

The meeting is with the board of trustees. They’re waiting for the next big thing that will put ConGypsCo over the top again. They want movement. They want more. And so does she. But sometimes rich old men have to told, using small words if possible, that patience is a virtue. Some good ‘ole Midwestern style stubbornness usually keeps the fuddy duddy suits in line. They do respect what she built, and that they wouldn’t be here without her, after all.

The secretary nods.

“Okay,” Gypsum tell her. “Did you get a chance to read through the contact lists?”

She nods again.

“Answer immediately: Joel Robinson, Mike Nelson, Cambot (only via FaceTime, Skype, Google Hangouts or other video messaging service), Richard Basehart, the ghost of Richard Basehart, any official Richard Basehart fan club member, Crow T. Robot or Tom Servo ONLY if they say the code word. Do not answer: Dr. Clayton Forrester, Pearl Forrester, TV’s Frank, Bobo, Brain Guy, Crow T. Robot (see previous list), Tom Servo (see previous list), Torgo’s Pizza, Ed Sheeran (the ginger jerk knows what he did), and that car salesman from Osseo.”

“Those names. They uh...they certainly are something. What’s with the two on both lists?”

“My kid brothers like to make prank calls. They know if it’s ever a real emergency to call and give me the code word. They’ve never called with it. Don’t worry about it.”

“So I know you said not to disturb you, for anything, but uh, what if something like that comes up?”

 

”

 

I̶̧̧̦̰̖͎͎͚̮̲̼͈͉̤̍͜͜ͅt̷̼̝͒̃̈́̄͂͒̽̄̂̌͆͆̉̔͂̿͑͑̚͝͝ ̷̛̤̳̙̙͎̠̫͙̟͓̤̺͓͚͈̙̫͎̹͊́̑̒̊̑̀̈̾́͑̇̎͆̈́̐̓͛͜͝͝͠͝w̷̡͉͕̤̞̭̪͎͎̦̑̎̂̌̂̑̅̿̐̓̋̿̚͘͜ͅo̷̧̫̻̘̬͂̔̉́̀͒̈́͛̂̊͊͐́̑̿́̈́͐̓̇̀̐̈́̄n̶̡̢̞̹͍̩̮̗̖̦̪̏̍̈̋̉̎͜’̵̨̢̡̮̬͉̬̦̫͇̲̺̤̬̲̝̞̝̘̤͓̫͖̪̪̯̃̂̿̒̾̐͌́̃̇͌͑͗̌̂̀͗̕͜͠ţ̵̙͇̖̒̓̽̊͆̋̾̆̍̿̈̓͋͒̃͂̃̽͑̂͝͝͝,̶̢̧̧̧̙̗̯̗̫͚͖͓̬̹̼̭̮̼̫̖͖̹͇̳̥͋̌͌ͅ ̷̡̡̪͓̬̦͍̬̮̠͈̲͓͖̲̜̯̜̜͖̖̘̰̖̅ḋ̷̡̳̳͍̗̙̝̲̘͚̮͓̩̮̆̌̈́́̿̆̔̕͠ơ̵̲̺̤̹͍̖̗̼̻̯̞̈̈́̅̈͆̚͜ṅ̴̥͙̜̘̯̎̐̋̈́̊̾̉̕͜͝’̵̬̮̜̖̼͙͓̖̰̲̥̬̙̍̄̊͒́͌̊͋̓̽̍́̅̉̍̑̚͜͜͝͝t̷̡̨̨̟̲̰̦̟͎͓̠̲̰̗̻̲͙̠͚͊͒̅̌͑̾̇͗͗̊̾̂̆͊͛̈́̕͝ͅ ̸̛̮̳͚͔̥̦͕́̽̔̈́̈́̈́̐̿̃̎̏͆́̍̓̇͝͝͠͝ͅw̴̧͙̦͔̞̔͊͗̒̔̀͗͌͑̎͋̕̕ȏ̶̧̨̢̲͉̣͈̹̱̗͚̭̦̘͍͉̱̲̠̭̲͔͔̭̘̌̾͐̿͒̏͗̀͜r̶̨̨̙̫̠͍̳̦̭̺̘̳̺̠̭͖̤̱̅͂̐̽̿͂̀̅͑̆͊̈̉̓̈́͋̚͠͝͝͠͠ͅr̸̺̱̩̪̊̽͋̎̃̔̎̂̊̊́̉ý̶̢̖͖͖̹͎̬͙̥͍͇͔̫͈̙͙̳̤̯̯̲͓͈̠̬̅͗͑̃͑͘̚͜ ̷̮̹̝̫̪͈̻̭̙̟͇̤͐͐͛̿̇̃̎̃̽͒̃̋̕̕͘͝ä̴͖̜͖́͛̑̀̃̈́b̵͓͋̓̈́̈́͌͝ơ̴̧̜̱̙̭͙̗͎̲͕̟̖͖̪̠̼̝͔͌͆̆̐̋͛̇̚͜͝ͅû̸̧͖̐ṯ̵̮̻̞̬̤̗̿̈́̃͝ ̵̧̢̛̺̼̫̙̹̫̬̪̜̘̥̩̰͔̫̍̐͋̈́̈́̅̆͒̉̊̓̑̈́͋̏͛̈́̓̊̕̕͘ͅį̸̞̼̖̈͆̆̅̇̃̍̌̑̓̓̾͑̒͋̑̔̄̑̏͗̈́̋̽̓t̴̢̛͖̍͒́̏.̴̮͎͍̱̆͐͑͊̉͂͊̑͒̚͝ ̷̪̬͓͔͚̪̗̳̬̗̃͒͂̊̆͌͂͆̋̽͋̄̈́̽̎̈́̄̃͆̾͜͝

 

The secretary looks on worried, despite the warning.

“It’s my voice box. It’s old. I’m getting a new one soon I think. I’m up for an upgrade. So are Crow and Tom too, now that I think about it...”

She nods. If...whatever Gypsum’s voice just did still worries her now that she has an explanation, she doesn’t acknowledge it.

The day goes on. And It’s half past noon.

The investors and board are all sitting and murmuring to each other, in a way that seems the right kind of interested. Gypsum has a pair of studious looking, and completely unnecessary, glasses on her large head covering the converted flashlight that makes up her eye. Her body is gesturing in the general direction of a graph on a PowerPoint presentation. She’s in the zone and this is what she does best. And then she is rudely interrupted.

Jeannie Styles, the temp she had just trained, bolts into the room. Her hair is flopping in every direction and she looks short of breath.

“Ms. Styles,” Gypsum admonishes. “Didn’t I instruct you clearly not to disturb me?”

Jeannie makes a choked noise. “Your...your brother. Crow. The code word. Hamdingers.”

Gypsum practically flies out of the room, dragging her coils with her.

“What! What happened?” she demands.

“I don’t know! The line went dead. He just said that, that it was the code word and that he needed help. That it wasn’t a joke and you would know what it means. And then that was where the call cut out.”

Gypsum’s coils are flying.

“Get me an Uber to Delano. Now.”

Jeannie wastes no time and frantically summons one.

Gypsum rushes her way towards the exit. To the ground floor. Her coils rush behind her. Something is Wrong. _Very_ Wrong. Crow hasn’t called with that warning in decades. Smartass and trouble maker though he is, he’d never joke around around with that particular emergency procedure. None of them would. Because it’s directly tied to their biggest shared fear. The one unspeakable thing they can’t have happen again.

She rushes down to the lobby and is greeted by an unexpected sight. There are multiple men crowding it. Well, Gypsum thinks they’re men, but she probably shouldn’t assume their gender when she can’t quite tell. They’re wearing what looks like motorcycle helmets with bones sticking out either side. They’re pasty and look a little like skeletons (the bones on top of their head emphasize this).

“You’re in the wrong building for Comic Con,” she tells them shortly.

“Hey so uh, I’m really sorry about this,” one begins. And pushes her.

The push actually sends her back some. A human should not be that strong. She’s seen Mike try to lift weights before and it’s, well...sad really. But she doesn’t have time to think before she goes on the offensive. She’s pushing back, she’s knocking them down. They attacked her and she’s not having it. She has to get to Crow. Now. She doesn’t have time for this group of reject bicycle gang members.

She’s almost to the door and out of the building, as she sends them flying. Then one of them drags out an electronic device and sets it off. In large blocky letters on the side it reads EMP…the last thing she sees and hears before it all changes is Jeannie frantically describing the scene to the police over the phone.

 

01000111 01111001 01110000 01110011 01110101 01101101 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101111 01100110 01100110 01101100 01101001 01101110 01100101 00101110 00100000

 

Slow. Slow. Slow.

Gypsum is not all there. She’s not thinking on all cylinders. Not right now.

Program Satellite of Love 2.0 Connected.

_Oh! Oh! The higher functions of the ship!_

_Life scan indicates no organic beings. Artificial oxygen on standby. Scanning for local terrestrial objects. Earth's moon approximately 20.25 miles below connected by Umbilicus. Satellite power levels at 70.5678 percent. Ventilation closed. Ventilation on standby in case of human test subject and organic materials. Slow. Very slow._

“Gyps? Are you there?”

Voice. She knows that voice. Crooooooow! Of course, her baby Crow. Need to protect Crow. Need to protect Tom Servo. Need to protect Cambot. Protect from what. Something.

“Gypsum!” Crow practically screams.

“I...I…

I̛͔̻͉̼̟͕͎͍̹̙͇͜’̵̡̝̩͚̯̜̞̰̟̜̲͚̘̟͇̯m̢͏͏̱̰͚̠ ̵̴̡͍͖͙̗͈̟͖̙͉̟̬̯̕n͟͏̷̡̤̗͇͇͕͠ͅo̝̤̫̤̖͉̜̬̜͈͚͚̦͎͔͠͡t̴̢̯͇̫͓͟ ̨̧̬̣̬̪̟̘̥͖̱̞̟̙̳̤͟͠o̡͚̺̖͚̲̘͚̻̼̭ͅķ͙͈̣̦̩̳̞̱͕̺͙̹̤̝̣͙͟͜͠͠ͅͅa̧̛̪̜͈̗͠y̶҉̬͍͖̟̣̳̖͍͉

 

  
Crow looks on, now very worried.

“Gyps! Gyps! Come on.”

“I think,” says Servo through cries. “I think...I think it’s cause she’s hooked back up to the ship. Her processing power is lower.”

Crow’s beak begins to open in recognition.

“Oh.”

_Processing Power at 69.853 percent. Processing Power at 76.432 percent. Processing Power at 78.333 percent._

She can feel her mind catching up the equipment but it’s off and why does she feel this way... the ship… wait a minute. She’s connected to the ship. She’s...

“No! No! No!”

Panic. Protect Crow. Protect Tom. Panic.

“Cambot?”

“We don’t know,” explains Crow.

Panic. Panic. Panic.

She’s got Tom and Crow securely wrapped in her coils in a hug, on instinct. She’s aware enough now to scan the ship, and determine no one with Cambot’s body shape is present. And panic. But she needs to be careful about her panic. Can’t crush Tom. Keep them safe. Keep them safe from what? From who? From why… from how? How are they back? Why is the ship here. The ship shouldn’t be here. The ship was destroyed… oh. Oh no. It’s starting to maybe dawn her what’s going on. It’s starting to dawn on her that she should have realized what was wrong earlier but the ship… the ship is weighing her down. It’s making her slow. It’s making her _dumb_. But she has to stay linked. Even through the haze that’s clouding her processing ability at the moment, she knows, she knows it’s her purpose to monitor the higher functions of the ship. Or they’ll die.

_Her purpose._

She can’t really think why right now, but for some reason that phrase is making her panic more.

She looks up. There’s a new addition to the ship. It’s a rail system. It’s... hold on…

_Program Cambot Track. Runs through sectors A-Delta. Hallway sequence. Mystery Science Theater to doors one through five: test subject living quarters. Mobility class outfit for unit Cambot._

Oh. Oh. OH. That means something. That means…

Cambot!

Down the track comes someone, unlike someone they’ve ever seen before.

But then...Cambot changes their casing. Sometimes a lot. This is a new casing.

This is Cambot!

_Processing Power at 82.010 percent._

“Cambot!” Tom and Crow both exclaim at the same time.

“We were starting to think you didn’t make it, buddy. Here we are all tousled up and worse for wear, you’re all spiffy. Is that an HD lens?” asks Tom.

Tom isn’t crying anymore. He was crying earlier. Good. He is good. He’s… not good. But better. For the moment.

_Processing Power 84.093 percent_

“Are you recording?” asks Crow. “Wait, are you _streaming_? Who are you recording for? Who’s watching us?”

Suddenly the video screen next to them clicks back on.

“Hello Cambot, Tom Servo, Gypsum, and Crow, and welcome back to the Satellite of Love. Or should I say Welcome to the Satellite of Love 2.0,” says a red headed woman with a certain grandiose inflection (or at least a smarmy attempt at one). “I, Kinga Forrester, Third Generation Mad Scientist and Queen of All Media, have restarted my family’s tent pole experiment, _Mystery Science Theater 3000_. Not only will I be monitoring the mind of a brand new test subject in due course, but I’ll be broadcasting it via Netflix for all the world to see, and using the show to build a media empire!”

“What’d you need us for then,” asks Crow, he picks up Tom and holds him close to his chest. Gypsum is still holding them both.“If your game is turning driving someone crazy into like, a TV brand or a movie or something, wouldn’t be easier if they didn’t have us to soften the blow?”

The man next to her laughs.

TV’s Frank?

No, not TV’s Frank. But he kind of looks like him. The way a lot of the leads in the old movies they watch look like each other. The same kind of look they’re attempting to achieve for the same kind of character. Maybe family resemblance?

_Processing Power at 95.56 percent._

“And just who are you supposed to be?” demands Tom.

_Processing Power at 97.315 percent._

_“_ You can call me TV’s Son of TV’s Frank...and you four are where the money’s at.”

_Processing Power at 98.009 percent._

TV’s Son (“just call him Max” as the angry red headed woman demands), tells them that they’re an important part of branding. That the human is replaceable, but but they’re important variables in the experiment. And the marketing push. The robots are what was always constant about the show, you see.

“But we have lives!” shouts Servo. “You can’t… you can’t just keep us hostage here.”

The redhead practically snorts. It’s funny to her. It’s funny to her because yes they can. They wouldn’t be Mads if they didn’t.

_Processing Power at 98.651 percent._

_“But Mike!!! Joel!!!_ ”

Servo is crying again.

“Oh hush, you’re just robots anyway...”

Crow looks like he’s ready to go down there and fight her.

“So if you’re really Pearl’s granddaughter, and I’m still not entirely convinced you are, why didn’t we see more of you? We were kind of around you know…”

 _That_ irks the redhead and seems to push her into a rage.

_Processing Power at 99.002 percent._

“Whatever,” she manages. “So Grandma Pearl tried to get rid of me a few times. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s _FINE!_ Skeleton crew! Hit them with the EMPs!”

The skeleton crew, the skeleton people, move with the machine that took her out earlier. Gypsum flinches. But nothing happens. Something didn’t work the way Kinga intended.

_Processing Power at 99.126 percent._

“Sorry boss,” says one of them. “It’s uh… not working. Do we need to charge these things or change a battery or...?”

She rolls her eyes.

“Whatever. Robots. Trapped. Don’t try anything. Cambot. _As we discussed earlier_ , I want footage of everything these three do.”

“Wait a minute, are you narcing on us?!” exclaims Crow. “You’re… you’re working for them?!?!”

Crow is annoyed and angry. And they’ll have to deal with that later, not now. Not now because Kinga seems pleased that she succeeded in sowing some discord, and they need to not play into what the Mads want.

“You’ll be here forever,” she taunts them.

And then. Then it hits.

B̴̭̺̝̯̹͖̞̹̖͖̱̰͐̓̇̋̉̈̓̋͌̌͝͠ͅũ̵̢̖̲̪̱̺̜̆̈́t̷̬̺͓̺̙̜̹͍͌̾̐͌͊͒̅͒͆͌̃͊͊̿͜͠ͅ ̴̞̥̞̟̹̱͇̜̻̠̹̰̥̎̉͘ͅm̸̯̫̫͙̳̬̙̃̐̏͜͝ẏ̵̭̠͚̭̦͇̯̦̩̈́̀̉͒̔̇̎ ̴̪̺̻̓̈́͌͐̈̄͛̿̉̿͘͘͝c̵̺̤̖̻̭̦̠̳̻͓̺̃͊̃͗͋̈̕͘͝͝ơ̴̡̢̱͓͖̯̱̠͚̑̊̒͗̆̕m̴͔̈p̶̠͈̻͈̝̀ȧ̸̧̨̛̟̰̱̺̝͚͚̫̞̰͍̻̼̑̓́̋̿̊̓͒̔͝͝n̴̡̤̲͖̰̟͚̖̣̉̑͑͆̊̾̑̿͌̕͜͝͝y̶̡͓̹͓̍͒͐̃̏̽̿̀̂

 

_Processing Power at 99.894 percent._

Kinga is taken aback again by the noise. And then rubs her hands together once she seems to realize what was just said.

“Oh please, did you think your board just got really interested in operations all of a sudden? They had a buyout offer: me. They just wanted to hear you out before springing that on you. And I’m sure you won’t be missed.”

_Processing Power at 100 percent._

The biggest and best thing she’s ever done. And just like that, it may as well be gone.

But then it all washes over her.

_Processing Power at 100 percent._

She should be fully hooked up to the ship, running at the full capacity the ship will allow her to. And she still feels dumb. Slow. Lost. Kinga has taken her freedom away. Kinga has taken Mike and Joel away. She’s taken her life’s work away. And more than all that… she’s taken her ability to share these feelings away. Maybe it can be fixed. The technology should be out there. Maybe the next test subject can hook her up with processing power that will allow her to think and process at the level she’s been used to on Earth. But Kinga has taken her sense of self. The words to convey all of this aren’t coming. If she even tries she’ll start saying something dumb. So instead she cradles Tom and Crow again, and manages to eek out a small “no.”

Everything has been taken from her.

But she’s still here.

* * *

  _Slow the Plot Down_

Tom Servo just wants to cry.

He’s been accused of crying of a lot and that’s simply not true. He is a sensitive soul with a mind for the classics, and sometimes people, and robots, who experience the wide breadth of knowledge he does are more sensitive to the whims of emotion. Or that’s what he would go with. If he wasn’t in PANIC mode. Everything is a lot to process right now.

He’s…

He’s back.

He’s doing this again.

The supposed daughter of Clayton Forrester and the supposed son of TV’s Frank have taken them hostage. He’s broken in pieces.

He’d be lying if he said he _didn’t_ like to be carried around by everyone, but a bot needs to be able to move about of his own will sometimes. And that simply isn’t going to happen with his thrusters in this condition and it’s simply, unforgivably beyond frustrating.

Okay so he’s crying again. Fine. But so is everyone else! He’s justified in this!

A TV screen lowers itself down, and the voice of TV’s Son of TV’s Frank begins talking over the jazz stylings of some skeletons.

He vaguely recognizes the song they’re playing as an arrangement of one such song he came up with Joel. 20 years ago. Hundreds of years ago, if one chooses to follow the timeline in a temporal fashion.

 _“Welcome to the Satellite of Love 2.0._ _Created by the genius of her majesty Kinga Forrester, the Satellite of Love is a recreation of the original Satellite built by Doctor Clayton Forrester and Doctor Larry Earhart in 1988, utilizing salvaged parts from the original crash site, and original blueprints. Welcome home.”_

This isn’t home. And the buffoonish silver haired guy doesn’t get to say it is.

There’s still music playing under the video. Servo knows the tune is definitely one of Joel’s and one he collaborated on at that, his ear for music is usually unparalleled. Too bad there’s a little bit more going on right now.

_“The Satellite of Love will be serviced by the Skeleton Crew, an experiment in creating a race of superhuman henchman…”_

Max blathers on. There’s information about the new video viewing platform, Jetscreen. There’s tech specs about their gravity. Part of him wants to start riffing on the fact that it all seems suspiciously like the science facts they’ve spent decades telling people to ignore. Part of him wants to use that riff as a shield from the fact that it’s all too much. He’s literally not processing all of the information presented to him and if there’s a test after all of this he’s going to fail. And Tom Servo has never failed a test in his life.

Right now he can’t even pass what should be a particularly easy game of name that tune.

_Kitchen that, cross reference User’s Manual this, life support that…_

It’s too much all at once. He was home watching stupid, mindless daytime TV yesterday and now he’s not. He’s here. He’s doing… whatever this is, and there’s a Moon 13 and Liquid Television and oh god what fresh heck was that all about?!

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

The others just stare at him for a second.

The tune suddenly comes to him.

It’s the sea shanty _Slow The Plot Down._

Well… that’s certainly apt. 

* * *

_Push Past the Hurting_

“Hey you know what! _Fuck you!!!_ The Mads aren’t recording, Joel isn’t here, and I can say all the bad words I want. So seriously, _FUCK YOU!”_

Cambot beeps and beeps and Crow ignores them. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t need them. He just needs to get out of here. Now. And away. And back _home_. Because he doesn’t care what this Kinga chick thinks, home isn’t here. Home is with Mike and Joel and everyone together and Turkey Day and Christmas and trips to the State Fair and…

Damn it, he’s crying again. He’s crying again and he hates this and these emotions have to stop before the human shows up because they’ll never get the human acclimated if they’re all like this. He hates that the human’s first impression of him is going to be someone weak and weepy and needing his hand held. Crow is none of those things. Normally. This is what Joel would call an “extenuating circumstance.”

Cambot hovers over, concerned. Cambot doesn’t get to be concerned as far as Crow’s concerned. They’re a traitor and traitors can go rot. They can go rot with how little Crow cares about the amount of times he said “concerned” in those last sentences.

“No. Go away,” he tells them. “This is your fault. This is your fault, you’re helping them. I mean it. _Fuck off_.”

Cambot hovers closer.

“Didn’t I just say that I mean it? Stop recording me you absolute dickweed!”

“Crow!”

It’s Gypsum, she’s watching. She’s been adjusting to the system over the last few hours… she’s noticeably more articulate but Crow can tell her processing ability isn’t anywhere near where it was on Earth. And her voice keeps doing that glitchy thing.

“Say you’re sorry right now!” she demands. “We are never getting through this if at the very least we all just don’t get along!”

“Why is no one listening to me?! Did I not just say I’m speaking my mind here? Why does no one give a damn what I think? Because I think this whole thing _sucks balls_ ! And Cambot is a rotten dirty _traitor_ that’s going to help them.”

Crow storms to the bed chambers. Kinga had done a good job recreating the functional parts of the ship faithfully. From what he’d seen the lower decks were pretty much an exact match. But where she failed, or perhaps deliberately did not care, was the rooms meant for comfort. His room was gone. And so was his nice, lockable door. His nice, lockable door he could slam dramatically at Cambot.

He huffs and sits himself on the bottom bunk.

“Ow!” He sits on something hard.

“I’m already broken,” says Tom. “Please don’t make it worse by cracking my dome.”

“Sorry.”

“Though I guess then I wouldn’t have to actually _see_ the movies…”

Crow make a little stifled noise that’s far away from being a laugh, and more a bitter acknowledgement that everything sucks.

Cambot whirs in on that overhead track.

“I don’t want to see you!”

Cambot starts playing footage. It’s not a very good projection even with the upgrades, they should utilize Jetscreen when they can, but it’s what’s playing that pushes Crow even further into a rage It’s of all of them together. Of Joel. Of Mike...

“Stop it! Stop it! It’s bad enough you’re doing this! And now you have to remind me they’re not… we’re never going to see them again!”

“Don’t say that,” says Servo between sobs.

And now they’re back to that.

Cambot isn’t deterred and instead plays a different set of footage. It consists of mostly commercial sign breaks.

Crow tosses a pillow at them. “I don’t even know what you’re trying to say!”

Cambot lowers themselves. Their body can crane down to a certain point, and in doing so they’re hovering in Crow’s face.

Crow is not about to deal with that.

A beep.

“Oh yeah because that’s going to make it better!”

A beep.

“You’re helping them. You don’t get to say it’ll be okay. Or that it should get better or _“just relax.”_ I’ll relax when _I’M DEAD_. Only I’m never going to die, I’m going to live forever on this stupid satellite with no one else, and Joel’s probably forgotten all about us after like however long this has been. I have no idea how long we were offline, maybe it’s been years! And you know how Mike is… he can barely function without us and.. .and…”

A beep.

“Yeah. Okay, so you’ll be here. We’re all be here. We can be miserable for the rest of our lives together. Great. Kumbaya or whatever!”

Crow grabs his legs with his arms, sitting in a bit of his take on a fetal position.

Cambot shows them footage of the new Mads, and Crow just makes a noise that’s somewhere between a cry, a scoff, and a growl.

Cambot, undaunted, shows a still of the image instead. They stay on the image. Finally, Crow manages to look at it just long enough to get Cambot’s meaning.

“Oh, the time stamp. Okay, so it’s been like a day, fine. We’re still going to be stuck up here forever.”

Cambot lets out the most frustrated beep they ever have, and it’s not translatable even to the assembled robots that know them best.

They begin playing a montage of everyone together. Of being home on Earth, and of banding together on the satellite. There’s Joel declaring the Robinson Family never gives up. There’s the four of them comforting Mike after another failed escape attempt.

Cambot even throws in a montage of Servo singing _“We’re All in This Together”_ seemingly alone to drive home the point.

“Okay, okay, the embarrassing Servo footage was on the nose. _I. Get. It._ We’re all in this together, except you know, the part where you’re actively working against us escaping. _”_

“You saw nothing! You all saw nothing!” said Servo forcibly, practically ignoring Crow. Well, at least that got him to worrying about something other than their impending doom. Crow isn’t so unobservant that he missed that’s where Servo’s head has been at the last few hours.

But Cambot isn’t done and shows them a file.

_“I have a proposition for you,” says Kinga._

_The picture seems to shake. As if Cambot is trying to wiggle away from her._

_“Oh, you’re going to be trouble. I can tell. That’s part of the reason I limited your mobility in the first place. But look. We both know that Mystery Science Theater 3000 wouldn’t exist without you. There’s no show without you. There’s no record of the experiment. No recorded data points. Oh, do I have plans for you, Cambot…”_

_The image isn’t crisp and instead jerky._

_“You’re going to record the experiments. You know you are. And your little friends are going to do exactly what they always do when we force them in the theater-- they’re going to keep the test subject sane by being as amusing and television worthy as possible. They’re going to get me the best ratings this side of the nearest Nielsen Family. “_

_Cambot lets out an electric noise. It’s intelligible to Kinga but clear to everyone else as meaning “like hell.”_

_“Did you like when Max took you and your little friends out with the EMP? Because that’s what’s in store for you.”_

_The image goes still. Cambot has stopped struggling._

_“Good. Now surveille what those idiots get up to, or useful to me or not, you’re getting replaced by a bonehead with a camera instead. Get it? Got it? Good. Now let’s run some liquid streaming tests before the others wake up from their nap. And I want a full report on what they do tonight.”_

Crow just stares for a second.

“Oh.”

“Really, that’s it?” asks Tom of Crow’s reaction. “Also kind of short sighted of her not to demand you not show us that.”

Cambot seems to hum in agreement.

“I’m sorry… okay? I jumped to a conclusion, and honestly the fact you played along at all, and then went behind her back to show us that is still pretty evil. And can you forgive me? I’m going through a lot right now.”

“We all are,” manages Gypsum.

“I still think… I still think the way this ends is with all of us stuck forever.”

“We… we got free once,” says Servo.

“We didn’t even do that. It was a fluke that Pearl was messing around.”

Cambot shows clips they’ve gathered of Kinga and Max so far. They loop the EMP not working.

“Okay so they’re kind of idiots. We might have a shot at them idioting us out of here. Great. When? On Mike’s 100th birthday?”

Everyone is quiet for a minute. Cambot plays some footage of one of Joel’s corny never give up speeches again.

“Yeah maybe,” mutters Crow.

Crow’s mind about the state of affairs being pretty hopeless isn’t changed, but the four do take each other into the best approximate of a group hug their bodies and current mobility status will allow.

* * *

_Just Relax_

The human is Matt Claude Van Dam. Just a normal guy in a purple jumpsuit. For a space station guy he isn’t very handy (he knows one very specific thing about air locks and that’s it). Unlike Mike, he can’t sing or play instruments, and won’t dress up. Unlike Joel, he doesn’t know or care about movies or film making techniques. He last only weeks before Kinga deems him not a strong enough riffer.

He’s a missing person report to Gizmonic. A space station staffer who went to the wrong side of the moon. A list of expensive space equipment and human capital.

_The bots’ memories are wiped._

_Somewhere in another universe Matt Claude Van Dam is the host of Mystery Science Theater._

The next human is Jenny Fisher. A weather imaging specialist part of a Gizmonic mission to track weather phenomena.

She isn’t handy like Joel, and the bots remain in need of repairs. But a bit like Mike, she’s funny and goofy in her own way. Or at least, is in private. But as soon as she becomes aware of Cambot or Kinga’s cameras, she clams up and the stage fright becomes obvious. Her anxiety is high and the bots try to ease her out of it. They’re good at that kind of thing. Possibly even great at it. But then… she really doesn’t see them as beings. She sees them as tools. As machines. They’re not friends… they’re robots. Robots programmed to make her okay with being held captive. To make her _complacent._ Or so she sees it. She gets more and anxious. She trusts everything less and less. For the first time they can remember, the bots have truly lost at their prime purpose: they can’t help her keep her sanity.

_Somewhere in another universe Jenny Fisher is the host of Mystery Science Theater._

_The bots’ memories are wiped._

The next human is Rob Harkness. He’s not a Gizmocrat, he was the dorky friend of one that was on a scouting mission, and happened to sneak a dimwitted tagalong with him. His friend jumps into an escape pod when the Show Trap catches them. Rob does not. Rob becomes the new host of Mystery Science Theater.

The bots have spent years making fun of Mike sometimes being just a tad slow on the uptake. Mike, despite his lovingly clumsy and airheaded nature, is still just a bit book smart about the classics. Rob is nothing like Mike. He’s a bro in the worst way. He makes fun of the bots for knowing obscure references. His sense of humor is pretty nonexistent. Kinga finally tosses him out when he decides he actually likes a good deal of the movies, and sits quietly through them.

_In another universe Rob Harkness is the host of Mystery Science Theater._

_The bots’ memories are wiped._

The bots, deep down, like Jonah early on. But something deep in their memory frames makes them wary of the new human. Memories of things that never happened, and never took place, where things went south with other test subjects. _Over and over again._ But maybe, they should just relax. 


End file.
